


Each day I'm swimming through molasses

by MsPeppernose



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is having a bad day and Patrick comforts him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each day I'm swimming through molasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immoral_crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/gifts).



> Posted to Tumblr in August. A fill for Immoral Crow for a prompt where boys giving each other pettings. Title is from Swimming Through Molasses by Tsunami Bomb <3

“Budge over.”  
“Hmph,” Pete replies.  
“Come on. Budge over,” Patrick says again.

Pete doesn’t move, but Patrick doesn’t care and begins to climb into the bunk anyway, so Pete _has_ to move then, lest he be squashed by an incoming Stump. They end up pressed close together, with Patrick all along Pete’s back. It’s not uncomfortable, far from it actually, but Pete is feeling stubborn and grumpy and he doesn’t want to talk about it. But if Patrick is in the bunk with him he’ll probably have to.

“Okay, I’m moving,” Pete grumbles after a few minutes. He likes the warmth of Patrick against him after all, but he doesn’t actually want for Patrick to balance on the fucking edge of the mattress to get it. “What’s up?” It’s worth a try. Maybe Patrick hasn’t noticed that Pete hates the entire world and most of its contents at the moment.

“What’s up? What’s up? Pete, you’ve been in your bunk since last night. You haven’t been out to eat,” he says. He gives Pete a sniff. “And you certainly haven’t showered. Tell me what’s up?”

Maybe Patrick has noticed the. “Nothin’.”  
“Liar. There’s something up.”  
“It’s fine.” Pete gives in and decides to make himself comfortable, because even if he’s going to pretend that everything is fine, he would never turn down cuddling with Patrick. The bunk is small but there’s still room for two if they organise themselves properly, and they’ve done this enough times to know that. He turns himself carefully so that he’s facing Patrick instead, and Patrick lifts his arm up for Pete to get closers, because he knows the drill by now, too. 

Though Patrick is the shorter of the pair of them, Pete shuffles down and gets his head on Patrick’s chest. Patrick is not as squishy as he used to be, but his chest is by far the most comfortable place that Pete can think of, whatever mood he’s in, and Pete wraps his arm around Patrick’s waist. It’s for comfort, but also for safety, because if he’s going to open up and tell Patrick he’s having a shitty black day, he needs to hold on tight.

“Just a crappy day,” Pete finally says, which is true, but it’s not nearly enough detail to satisfy Patrick, and he knows it.  
“How crappy?”  
“Not, like, the darkest days. Not too much to worry about. But -- I’m sad.”  
“How sad?” Because with Pete there’s degrees of how sad he can get, and it’s best to check.  
“Middling. And it’s not for any reason. Just sad.” No reason that he can pin point anyway, but if he thinks about it, which he’s been doing since last night, he can list off at least a dozen things they could all cave in on top of him. “I’m starting to feel better already, though.”

“Okay, so will we do the thing? The listing good things thing?”  
“Yeah, okay.”

When Pete is sad and things feel terrible, one of the things that can help him is listing off _good_ things, and not dwelling on the awful darkness. Sometimes the good things are just that his socks match or that he has clean sheets in his bunk, but it’s positive nonetheless and that’s what matters. 

“Okay. Number one?”

The first one is always the hardest, because it’s like breaking the seal on the bad mood, but that’s a good thing even if it’s difficult, because he wants his bad mood to leak out so the good mood can seep in. He ignores the list of shitty things he can think of and only pays attention to the back-and-forth of Patrick’s hand on his arm, and the slow little motions of Patrick’s fingers through his product-ridden hair.

“We had a good show last night. That’s good, right? We had a good show. So I’m grateful for that.”

Patrick’s hands don’t stop moving, don’t stop soothing Pete, and Pete can feel Patrick’s head nod above him. It’s a relief to say a good thing, even if it feels a little forced, but it’s good. It’s a start. 

“Yep. That’s good,” Patrick says, and the tone of his voice sounds encouraging. “It was a great show. You were _on_. Number two?”

Pete giggles in reply and Patrick pinches him lightly and tisks him. “Dude, you’re far too fucking old to be laughing at someone saying ‘number two’. But I’m glad you laughed. What’s your second good thing?”  
“There’s a Starbucks near the venue for later, right?”  
“Yep.”  
“So my second thig is that I’m going to get a big fat hot chocolate before showtime later. So, it’s going for coffee with my friends. Aw, I’m cheesy.” But that also feels good to say, and sometimes he needs to remind himself that he has friends and people that care, even if it does feel cheesy.  
“Good. You should get food though, too. Being cheesy is fine, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He squeezes Pete shoulder, and Pete can feel the darkness shift a little more.

Pete skims his hand over Patrick’s hip absently and he touches bare skin. Patrick squirms and laughs, but he grits out, “Asshole. No tickling.”  
“What if my third good thing is tickling?” Pete says, even though the tickling wasn’t actually intentional. 

“Is it?” Patrick says cautiously.  
“No,” Pete says. He burrows a little deeper against Patrick’s chest, holds on a little tighter. “It’s the big thing. The I-should-be-grateful-for-my-life thing. I have family and friends and a roof over my head. It’s the thing that’s so easy to forget, but yeah. _That_ thing.”  
“You don’t even have to go that big. But that’s good.” 

That’s three things, and that was easier that Pete had expected, though he knows it’s a lot to do with the fact that it’s always easier when Patrick helps him through it, holds his hand, be it metaphorical or physical. He’s feeling a bit better, and even if he’s not jumping for joy and suddenly _Little Miss Fucking Sunshine_ , it’s a step in the right direction.

Pete has no idea how much time passes, and he doesn’t care all that much because he knows that someone will come looking for them whenever they’re needed. Patrick is warm and cosy and his shirt smells like fresh laundry and deodorant, and the longer Pete spends curled up beside him the better he feels. It’s pure, luxurious comfort, and Pete tries to absorb as much of it as he can before they have to go be adults in the real world.

“I thought of a fourth thing,” Pete says, breaking the silence.  
“You did? Great. Let’s hear it.”

Pete grins, though Patrick can’t see the smile, and he sticks his hand in under Patrick’s shirt again and tickles and tickles and tickles Patrick’s warm skin.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Patrick laughs.  
“I _can’t_ , Patrick. Tickling is my fourth good thing.” Or maybe it’s that _Patrick_ is his good thing that he’s always grateful for, but he doesn’t say as much.

Patrick squirms, probably more violently than Pete was expecting, because Pete almost gets a knee to the groin in the process, and Patrick’s other leg ends up kicking through the bunk curtain and out into the isle. 

Patrick finally catches Pete’s hand and stops him. He’s stopped laughing, but he’s still a little breathless. “Okay, okay, okay. I get it. You’re grateful for tickling. The end.” Though as they settle down again, he lifts Pete’s hand and places a gentle kiss to the knuckles.

“Glad you’re in a better mood, Pete. Are you ready to come out and sit in the lounge?”  
“No. No, not yet.”  
“Okay,” Patrick says. He kisses Pete on the top of the head and ruffles his hair. “Then we just wait here until you’re ready.”


End file.
